"N-no. On second thoughts that would be only running away. I'm not going to run away. Wounds as bad as mine have healed with a bit of nursing, and—Well, good-by. Say good-by to your father and mother for me, will you?—especially to your governor. Rum old chap, but sound—sound as—as Shakespeare and the Bible. Good-by once more. Meet again some time."
It was at the door, to which she accompanied him, that he said: "By the way, when are you coming home?"
She called all her dignity to her aid in order to reply lightly: "Oh, I don't know. Not for ages and ages. Perhaps not at all. I may stay permanently over here. I don't know."
"Oh, I say—"
"In any case I'm here for the winter."
"Oh, but I say, by Jove! That's forever. You'll be back before spring?"
She weakened in spite of herself. "I couldn't possibly leave till after Christmas."
"Christmas! It's the end of November now. Well, that's not so bad. Expect to be in Southsea some time early in the new year. See you then."
He had gone down the steps when he turned again. Drusilla was still standing in the open doorway.
"It's awfully queer, but I feel as if—you'll laugh, I know—but I feel as if I'd been kept from the commission of a crime. Funny, isn't it? Well, I'll be off. See you in Southsea not later than the middle of January. Good-by again; and don't forget my message to your governor."